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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24638287">You're So Vain</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyStrallan/pseuds/LadyStrallan'>LadyStrallan</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy, Voyná i mir | War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy, War and Peace (TV 2016)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>19th Century, F/M, Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, opera - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 01:42:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,831</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24638287</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyStrallan/pseuds/LadyStrallan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Bolshoi Theatre has hired a new prima donna. Anatole, having seen her in the shows for several nights decides to meet her in her dressing room.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Anatole Vasilyevich Kuragin/Original Female Character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>You're So Vain</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Anatole Kuragin had attended five opera performances that week. It was all the fault of the pretty little prima donna that had bewitched him.</p><p>It was Helene who had suggested for him to attend that first performance. “You really must see her,” She insisted. The Bolshoi Theatre had hired a new prima donna, who according to Helene, was one of the best sopranos she had ever seen perform.</p><p>“I’ll take your word for it, dear sister,” said Anatole. The siblings sat in Helene’s boudoir; a popular place for them to retire after dinner was finished. “We’ll attend the opera tomorrow evening.”</p><p>Anatole was seated in his usual box, flanked by Dolokov and his sister. Helene whispered eagerly to both men as the curtain rose; she was the only one of the group who had seen the new prima donna perform. “You’re sure to be enamoured with her, Tolya,” She teased, “She’s such a pretty thing.”</p><p>“You of all people know father wants me to have nothing to do with women after-” He stopped himself. Such a thing was never to be spoken of again; that was made <em>very</em> clear. Helene raised an eyebrow.</p><p>“Shame.” She turned back towards the stage.</p><p>The first solo after the overture was performed by this new prima donna. Helene was not wrong, Anatole mused. This woman was striking. Pale blonde curls framed her face, which’s features were somewhat difficult to observe at this distance. Her skin was very fair; looking almost white as snow against the dark green of her opera costume. The girl had the intriguing ability to look both familiar and exotic to him at the same time. He leaned over to whisper to Helene, “What is her name?”</p><p>Helene’s lips curled into a smile. She knew he would ask her this. “Countess Svetlana Mikhailovna Lebezheninova,” Helene said, her eyes still on the girl.</p><p>“A countess,” said Anatole, “Why would anyone with a title want to enter opera?”</p><p>“She <em>is </em>very good,” Helene replied. “Perhaps she enjoys the attention.”</p><p>Anatole scoffed.</p><p>By the time the aria had finished, Anatole was leant so far forward in his seat that he would have tumbled of the balcony if one of his companions tapped him on the back. Svetlana’s voice was intoxicating. He wondered for a moment if she was married; it wouldn’t matter to him if she was, wouldn’t it? It wasn’t beneath him to bed married women. Truthfully, not many things were beneath Anatole Kuragin.</p><p>At the commencement of the final note, Svetlana extended both of her arms towards the audience and gave a dazzling smile. Her eyes scanned the audience, watching the extravagantly dressed patrons give her a thunderous round of applause. Anatole swore that for just a moment her eyes landed on him, lingering for only an instant before she lowered herself into a deep curtsy.</p><p>He paid little interest to the rest of the performance, only leaving his thoughts when <em>she</em> was on the stage. He could have her if he wanted to, he thought. He could have any woman he wanted with his charm, Svetlana was no different. But what if he wanted more than just to bed her—He stopped himself. <em>Anatole Kuragin does not dote over women.</em> Why was there this something about her?</p><p>Anatole attended every opera performance that week. An excessiveness that caused Dolokov to refuse to accompany him after three nights, and Helene after four. “Meet her in her dressing room after the performance,” suggested Helene, fanning herself with a feather fan, “Then you can invite her ‘round whenever you like.” She huffed. “I’m sick of the opera.”</p><p>On the last night he attended, he left the box just before the end of the show. If he was to make it to her dressing room in a swift manner, he could not be swept up in the rush of people, let alone be stopped and have his ear talked off by ‘friends’ and acquaintances.</p><p>Anatole made it to the back of the opera house, where the dressing rooms were, just in time; he could hear the bustle of people leaving not too far away. There was a narrow hallway lined with doors; some opened, some closed. He glimpsed in some of the open doors as he walked down the hall. Dancers stretching, men taking off wigs, women stripping off their stage makeup. Near the door to the stage, he found a partially opened door marked ‘примадонна’. He opened the door slightly more, leaning on the door frame and leering at her.</p><p>Svetlana Mikhailovna was a sight of beauty and grace. Soft, light blonde curls pouring down her bare shoulders and corseted back. Delicate hands pulling a hair brush through her hair. Humming to herself softly, admiring her own face in the mirror. She saw him in the mirror after a minute, gasping slightly in surprise and turning in her chair to face the door.</p><p>Anatole smiled slightly.</p><p>“I do apologize, but I wasn’t expecting anyone,” she said, standing from her seat and taking a step towards him. “Are you Mr. Olegov?” She blushed; by reading his expression, he was very clearly not Olegov.</p><p>“We haven’t met,” said Anatole. “Prince Anatole Vasilyevich Kuragin.” He outstretched his open palm. She gave him her hand to kiss, keeping full eye contact while doing so. This intrigued Anatole.</p><p>“Why have you come?” She asked plainly.</p><p>Slightly taken aback by her abruptness, he answered, “You’re very beautiful.”</p><p>“And?”</p><p><em>And? </em>Such an odd response, thought Anatole.</p><p>“And,” he began, “I’ve seen every performance of yours this week.” Taking a breath, he gathered everything that was floating around in his head, all the things he wanted to say to her, all the things he wanted to <em>do</em> to her, trying to compile it into a coherent sentence. “When you sing,” He said, taking a step towards her, “When you speak, when you stand, I cannot help but be intoxicated by you. Like a siren tempting a sailor, you’ve bewitched my mind, and I fear I shall drown if I do not-“ He stopped. Where had this poetical speech come from? Where in his dark, depraved mind could it have come from? “I’ve come.”</p><p>He stood for a moment, staring at her face. The intense beauty of her high cheekbones, prominent nose and hard-to-read expression. She looked at him too, his expression of a man who’s brain and loins are both on fire. “You’ve come.”</p><p>She took a step towards him, looking at his face with inquiring eyes. “You enjoyed the performance?” she asked.</p><p>“Oh, yes. Of course. Very much.” He felt his breath hitch as her bare arm brushed his clothed one to go close the door. He turned towards her.</p><p>Then, Svetlana Mikhailovna would say something very risqué. She turned from the door to face him, her eyes dark and lustful.</p><p>“Care for a fucking?”</p><p>He gulped. He was slightly taken aback, yet even more turned on then he already was. She was so vulgar; more vulgar than he’d ever seen a woman be, except maybe Helene. He had no way of responding except by what he did next.</p><p>In an instant he had her up against the door, his arms around her waist, hers around his neck. He kissed her viciously, passionately, in a way he kissed all of his lovers. She unhooked her corset from the front swiftly, discarding it on the floor. Her chemise was short. Knee-length. It was for her opera costume, but Anatole took full advantage, stroking her bare leg, and bunching the skirt up higher.</p><p>He half expected her to yelp, to swat his hand away. Her reaction was quite opposite; she moaned, and reached for the buttons of his pants. Svetlana Mikhailovna was a minx, a tease. He should have guessed; the way she smiled, the way she talked to a stranger who turned up to her dressing room in little more than a chemise and corset. The way she pushed her tongue into his mouth with her kiss, and gently pulled his hair. The way she had asked him to—</p><p>In a telepathic communication, they simultaneously removed their clothing. Anatole, bare chested with his pants half undone, hoisted Svetlana to sit on his hips, her hands now grasping his face as she kissed him. He brought her over to the chair in the corner of the dressing room and sat down, allowing her to straddle him. She could feel a rapidly growing erection underneath her, and she grinded on him; swallowing the groans he made as they kissed. She trailed a finger down his muscular chest to slip her hand into his pants.</p><p>“<em>Temptress</em>,” he barely gasped out; too preoccupied in the touch of her small, cold hands on his painfully hard cock. Just when Anatole thought Svetlana couldn’t pleasure him more than she was at this moment, she licked his neck down to his collar bone. A rush of desire washed over him, and he grabbed her rather forcefully, almost carrying her over to the adjacent wall. He slid his pants down just enough before hoisting her up against the wall. They shared a final kiss, that was almost chaste compared to what they had been doing previous, before he impaled her on his cock. Anatole grunted.</p><p>“You locked the door?” He asked her before continuing.</p><p>“Of course,” she replied before she began to bounce herself on his hard length; eliciting shameless moans from the both of them. “Fuck, Anatole,” Svetlana Mikhailovna choked out after a particularly deep thrust. She was seconds from reaching her climax when she threw her head back, banging it on the wall. “<em>Fuck</em>.”</p><p>This did not deter Anatole though, he was determined to bring her to orgasm. With one arm he held her allot on the wall, and with the other he reached between her legs, beginning to tease her clit. She threw her arms around his neck, and began to kiss him; barely able to find his mouth each time. Her moans became louder and higher pitched. He wondered what the other performers would think, or if this was a common occurrence. As he thrust into her once more, she came, kissing him with tongue. He followed her seconds after, groaning her name into her neck.</p><p>“God, that was wonderful.” Svetlana sighed. She gracefully dismounted him, and nonchalantly went to pick up her clothing. Anatole smirked and redid the buttons of his pants. Once she was redressed, she handed him his shirt.</p><p>“Come over to my house tomorrow afternoon,” Anatole said, “my sister is very eager to make your acquaintance.”</p><p>Svetlana smiled. “I wouldn’t miss it.”</p><p>He made his way to the door but before he could turn the doorknob, she grabbed his arm, pulling him into one last kiss.</p><p>“До свидания, Малышка,” Anatole purred, before walking out the door. As he walked back towards the exit, he could not help think of seeing her again. He had not ever had a lover just like Svetlana Mikhailovna.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I had a lot of fun writing this. Hope you enjoyed it! Expect some new fics soon, and make sure to let me know if you have any requests :) &lt;3</p><p>- LadyStrallan :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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